


Pity the Living

by The_Cinderninja



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 18:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cinderninja/pseuds/The_Cinderninja
Summary: Celegorm is not killed by Dior.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Pity the Living

Celegorm knelt on the blood soaked tiles, cradling Curufin's rapidly cooling body in his arms. The sound of clashing steel rang hollowly in his ears, but it sounded so far away. “I didn't want this.” He gasped weakly, the smell of death heavy in the air around him, the tang of iron sharp in the back of his throat. His adrenaline failed him as he realized where his choices has led.

He pounded a white fist on the cold stone, crying out in sudden, impotent rage. “We should never have left.” He breathed, curling around his little brother, as if he could still protect him, even in death.

“Get up, you fool!” Caranthir shouted from across the room, but his cry fell on deaf ears.

The fighting drew nearer until Celegorm was kicked roughly aside, dropping Curufin's body as he fell to the floor. He turned furiously, the animalistic snarl dying on his lips as he saw Caranthir who had kicked him away now standing over him with a spear through his chest.

“ _No!”_ Celegorm wheezed, jolting to his feet in a fluid motion. Caranthir's opponent fell to the floor, one of Caranthir's knives embedded beteen his ribs, red foam bubbling forth from his mouth. Neither brother paid him any mind as Celegorm caught Caranthir in his arms and slowly lowered him to sit on the floor.

“Fool.” Caranthir rasped, with no heat.

“I'm sorry.” Celegorm answered hopelessly. One look at the wound told him it would be fatal – but his death would be slow, not immediate as Curufin's was. His brother would suffer, bleeding out due to Celegorm's inattention. “You shouldn't have done that.” He whispered, reaching for Caranthir's hand.

Caranthir looked away, and coughed blood onto his chin. “I didn't think.” He responded. “I just didn't want to see-” He grimaced. “I did not want to see another brother die.”

Celegorm sat silently. The battle raged elsewhere in the fortress, and he neither knew nor cared which side was winning. He gripped Caranthir's hand in his own. Neither brother cried, the time for tears had long past.

“Do you regret the Oath?” Caranthir broke the silence, startling Celegorm violent.

“No-” Celegorm responded on instinct, quickly and fervently, wild eyed. Afraid of misstep.

“Do not lie to me.” Caranthir hissed.

Celegorm met his eyes, looking like a cornered prey animal. “I-”

A great breath left Caranthir's body, and after that, breathing seemed more of a struggle for him. “We all do, Tyelko. We all do. This is a hopeless venture. The Darkness awaits all of us, in the end. Pity our living brothers, not Curvo and I. Our crimes have come to an end, at least.”

Something in Celegorm seemed to break at that and he crumpled against his brother, gasping. “We are doomed.”

Caranthir regarded him with a soft sort of pity, but did not deny it. Although Celegorm was witness to Caranthir's last breath, it was Caranthir who witnessed the untempered flame within Celegorm finally flicker and go out.

Caranthir passed on quietly, resigned and at peace, as the sound of armour and shouts drew near once more.

Celegorm did not rise at the sound of footsteps. If it was his brothers, so be it. They could drag him from this place. If it was the Doriathrim, let them slay him pitilessly where he sat, as he had their fellows.

“You!” A voice echoed through the room. “You are still here!”

Dior. The very elf who had slain Curufin, and fled, leaving his guards to slay Caranthir.

Celegorm raised his empty eyes from the floor, unmoving. “Slay me then, it makes no difference.”

Dior paced towards him, sword drawn to do just that.

“You should give them what they want.” Celegorm spoke, unflinching at Dior's approach. “They will not stop, otherwise. They _cannot_ stop. You have the power to end this.” Some passion slowly returned to Celegorm as he spoke. If only he could convince Dior, with this last desperate plea, all of this could end.

“It does not matter if you kill me. The Oath will not rest. Who now has the gem? Your heirs? Then you send them knowingly to their doom! My brothers will not stop until the Silmaril is returned to us.”

Dior now stood over him, sword raised. Still, Celegorm sat.

“What possesses you?” He demanded, rolling at the last moment out from the downswing of the blade, and rising swiftly. “You are as much a kinslayer as we! _Release us from our Oath!_ ” He howled, darting swiftly away from Dior's rapidly swinging blade.

The halfelven king's attacks grew more aggressive, and still Celegorm did not fight back, only dodged and darted about the room, making his plea. “Fight me!” He roared at last, lunging at Celegorm to pin him in the corner. Yet somehow, at the last moment Celegorm was no longer there, appearing behind him with a blade to his throat.

Dior spat curses through his teeth at the Feanorion behind him, but Celegorm remained unmoved.

“You and I, we can end this today. Bring me to the Silmaril, and no others will need to die today.”

“Your family shall never again possess the hallowed jewels, from now until the Breaking of the World.” Dior snarled pridefully. They were the last words he spoke.

Celegorm pulled his knife from the King's throat, and let the body fall to the floor.

The hall was silent, and Celegorm alone stood amongst the corpses.

“You are a fool of a King.” He coldly rejoined to the now dead king. The ice slowly left his eyes and left him standing aimless, wearing a hollow expression. Gaunt face drawn with exhaustion, Celegorm threw his knife to the side and knelt slowly, finding the King's own belt knife and loosening it from it's home at his side. “But, we too are fools of princes.” He intoned, turning the knife over in his hands.

This would be the last of Celegorm's crimes. He could not atone, nor could his brothers. Were the Silmaril recovered, they still would all be cursed to the Eternal Darkness. There was no other end for them now. Celegorm in this moment decided he would commit no further atrocities in the name of the Oath. Let it take him now.

Turning the King's blade one final time til it faced his own heart, Celegorm plunged it in. He felt nothing at first, but soon his knees gave out beneath him, his breathing hitched, and finally, his mind realized what had happened, and let him feel the pain.

A small, weak noise excaped him as he fell forward to his hands. They slipped on the blood slicked floor, and he tumbled first to his chest, driving the knife further home, and then to his side, where he lay, vision rapidly fading. He did not find it in him to regret his decision, until he heard a voice as though from far away crying out his name. _Makalaurë_.

The strong voice called him back to himself, and he found himself back in his body, hanging limply in Maglor's arms, looking up at wide, watery eyes.

“Not you too.” Maglor pleaded. “Please, not you too.”

Celegorm was not breathing. He did not know what Power Maglor was using to keep him here, but he knew it would not last. He opened his mouth, to tell Maglor to let him go, _please_ , but no words came out. Only a brief bubble of red before his strength left him once more, and his head fell to the side unsupported.

“ _Please.”_ Maglor repeated, voice too broken with grief to pull him back again.

_Don't grieve for me._ Celegorm thought at the very last.


End file.
